DISCLAIMER: I do not own Glee, Fox does. And Ryan Murphy.
Warnings are: Blaingst, first-time handjobs, first time a lot of things.
I just want to start off and say: I am terribly sorry for lack of updates on anything, especially Silent Dreams. I know no one likes to read lengthy author's notes wherein the author goes off about life and everything that's cluttering it up, but I just wanted to put it out there for everyone. I was in a funk that I'm still kind of in, and I've been stressed with starting college (I'm so young .. sigh) and various other personal reasons that I won't bore you with, but I promise to start working on Silent Dreams again. It just might not be for awhile.
As always, reviewers, I love you. From the bottom of my heart and wherever else you can love from.
Blaine is brave and strong and wise, all the things Kurt wishes he himself could be.
Kurt is all those things and he doesn't see it; only Blaine does.
Blaine is beautiful and kind and smart. He knows just what to say and when to say it. His eyes are large and wide, his palm warm and soothing. He buys Kurt lunch and coffee and flirts with his eyes and his voice.
Kurt is witty and sarcastic and fun to be around.
Blaine is perfect and Kurt's in love.
Blaine isn't perfect and he doesn't understand why Kurt thinks he is.
Blaine thinks he's in love with someone else when really; the person he feels for the most is always right next to him in the same identical blazer, singing back-up to his lead.
Kurt's in love and Blaine is oblivious.
Kurt wants to be angry with Blaine, but he just can't. He'd been there; he'd seen Blaine's face after that blond, shaggy-headed boy Jeremiah—that name alone should have been a turn-off, never mind the detail that he wasn't even out—had turned Blaine down. Blaine had looked utterly heartbroken. He'd looked embarrassed and everything like a seventeen-year-old boy who had lost everything that he was hoping to gain.
That's something Kurt can empathize with all too well, so all he can do once Jeremiah leaves is pull Blaine close and offer to buy him lunch. Blaine laughs but it sounds flat and doesn't reach his eyes. Kurt should be ecstatic, having Blaine this close to him, smelling his cologne and feeling the rough wool of his jacket under his palms, but all he feels is overwhelming sorrow.
He fights the urge to press a kiss to Blaine's temple when he steers them toward the nearest mall café. Blaine glares at every single Valentines display and Kurt really does smile this time, though he hides it with a gloved hand.
However Blaine feels now, whether it's downright murderous or severely depressed, they had planned a study session for their upcoming English exam and tonight had been the night they picked out last weekend. Kurt's not going to skip out on it, which is how he ends up outside of Blaine's dorm room not long after eight with a stack of books in his arms and some cardboard Valentines decorations he'd nicked from the cafeteria, tucked between the pages of his textbooks, figuring if push came to shove he could pull them out, hand Blaine a pair of scissors, and tell him to go to town.
Out of experience Kurt knows that Blaine doesn't lock his door—"experience" being he'd barged in on him once when Blaine was changing into a pair of boxers and though they'd both laughed it off, Blaine being the more cavalier individual about it, Kurt still can only think wow—so he doesn't bother knocking. He shifts his books in his arms instead, giving him a free hand to turn the handle.
Blaine's room is dark and quiet and Kurt raises an eyebrow, stooping to place the books on the ground just inside the door. "Blaine?" he calls. His voice echoes slightly like it would in a horror or thriller movie.
There's a sniffle from the direction of Blaine's bed. Kurt steps to where he thinks Blaine's desk is, bumping into solid wood with his hip with a pained grunt before finding the cool metal base of Blaine's lamp. It takes a few seconds to find the knob, flicking it on to cast the room in a yellow-orange glow.
"Blaine, are you okay?" he asks, softer and gentler this time, stomach coiling over itself as scenarios flash across his mind. Blaine isn't a rash person, and he'd never intentionally hurt himself, but it still doesn't stop Kurt from worrying more than he probably has any right to.
After all, apparently Blaine didn't love Kurt like Kurt thought he did.
Kurt isn't that kind of vindictive boy, though. Especially not for friends, and especially not for ones that had just made fools out of themselves earlier that day at the Gap by singing a song that had even Kurt cringing.
He turns and sees Blaine curled in on himself on top of his covers, clad in a white wifebeater, one of the ones that he wears underneath his uniform shirts, and loose gray sweatpants. Kurt's never seen him so dressed down before.
He takes a few careful steps to the bed, listening and hearing only the occasional sniffling and hitching of breaths, and sits on the edge of the bed, resting his palm on Blaine's hip, feeling tingles shoot up through his arm like he's been electrocuted.
"Blaine?" he inquires again. "What's wrong?"
Another sniffle, followed by a muffled "Go away" as Blaine curls in further, drawing his legs up closer to his chest, jostling Kurt's hand enough that his fingers brush against the exposed sliver of olive skin about the rolled-up waistband of Blaine's sweats. His skin is hot and smooth and extremely tempting.
"You know I'm not going to do that."
"Please just go away, Kurt," Blaine says and shit his voice is wrecked, weak and raspy from tears.
Kurt scoots closer, tucking one of his legs up on the bed and resting it against the back of Blaine's thigh. He tries not to focus on how warm Blaine's skin is underneath his hand. "I'm not just going to leave you," Kurt says again, adamant. That sentence can go two ways and Kurt wishes that Blaine would just realize it already, see what he has in front of him, someone that's just like him and that likes Blaine for who he is, who's already out in high school and doesn't care who knows.
"Yeah, well, you should. Everyone else does," Blaine mumbles.
Kurt's taken aback a little. He can't recall any situations that would have people abandoning Blaine, and though his father is apparently kind of an asshole he's still there every break when Blaine grudgingly goes home to mope around his expensive house like he has better places to be, and with the way he talks he probably does but Kurt's still stuck on large, expensive house and, like, five cars for two people, it's ridiculous.
"I would never leave you," Kurt says automatically, the words spilling from his mouth like rushing water cascading down a mountain. He can't reign in his blush as the sentence lingers in the air, potent and heavy.
It seems to be what crushes Blaine's resolve because now he's flipping over and dislodging Kurt's hand in the process, arms wrapping around Kurt's waist and face burying in Kurt's soft blue v-neck. Blaine cries freely, words jumbling and pausing as he sucks in air. "I—I r-really thought that some—someone liked me. I thought I h-had a chance at finding love for once. I feel like such an idiot."
"No one loves me," Blaine sobs, and Kurt gets a feeling that a lot of this stems way deeper than today. "It's stupid and melodramatic and immature but it's true. I've never been what p-people have wanted me to be. I'm not str—straight enough, I'm not perfect enough, I'm not attractive enough—"
"Stop it," Kurt commands. He untangles Blaine's arms from his midsection and tugs gently, enough that Blaine gets the hint and moves into a sitting position, wiping at his eyes with the backs of his hands. Kurt's heart gives what is probably an audible crack as it breaks at the sight of his friend slash mentor slash crush.
He's nothing short of an honest wreck; his eyes are swollen and bloodshot, face shining wetly in the light. The tip of his nose is a deep bruise-red and his lips look swollen and bitten, like he was holding back louder sobs before Kurt came into his room.
"Blaine," Kurt whispers, tucking two fingers under Blaine's chin to tilt his head up. "You're beautiful. You're so breathtakingly gorgeous that I'm beside myself sometimes."
Blaine shakes his head, slipping his eyes closed as if to avoid Kurt's gaze. He makes a tiny noise in the back of his throat that Kurt isn't sure is an agreement or another plea to go away or stop. He powers through it, knowing that if he doesn't say it now he never will.
"You have no idea how jealous I am of you," Kurt says, placing a hand on top of Blaine's. Blaine looks down, bewildered, like he's never held hands before while Kurt vividly remembers that they have, that it was the first impression he'd gotten of Blaine, just Blaine. Not the Warbler, not the schoolboy, just Blaine the person with beautiful eyes and a beautiful smile.
"Why?" Blaine asks, voice small and childlike. Kurt smiles.
"Why?" he parrots, and Blaine nods almost imperceptibly. He opens his eyes and looks at Kurt and Kurt's glad there are no new tears welling up under the lids. "Because you're Blaine Anderson. You turn heads and sway crowds with only a single bar of a song. You taught me to be courageous and to face my fears."
"I ran," Blaine says quietly. He turns his hand over so that his and Kurt's are palm-to-palm and he can slide his fingers between the spaces of Kurt's. It certainly isn't the first time Kurt's held hands with someone, but it is definitely the first time that it's felt so right.
"You regretted," Kurt replies. "That's what matters."
Blaine's eyes slide closed again and Kurt takes a minute to soak in what's happening. Blaine had shattered Kurt's every mental image of him, had proven in just a few hours that he was only a teenage boy like every other student in this school and that teenage boys are rash and make stupid mistakes.
There's a different Blaine Anderson, one that isn't loquacious and polite around adults and wise beyond his years to spies from rival schools. This is a Blaine that's only seventeen and out, someone who ran and regretted, who was beaten and who had his heart broken by the first guy to ever show interest in him.
This is a Blaine that wants to be loved like Kurt does, that wants to find someone to kiss and hold, to sing cheesy love songs to and not care who hears. When Blaine squeezes his hand, gently, and rests his forehead against Kurt's shoulder, Kurt knows what he has to do.
"Lie down," he says. Blaine's head snaps up and he blinks blearily at Kurt. His eyes are still red and his face is a little wet, but if everything goes Kurt's way it won't be for long.
"What?" Blaine asks, words slow like molasses. Confused, like he's been asleep for a long time.
"Lie down," Kurt reiterates, freeing his hand to push at Blaine's shoulders until he's lying on his back on the bed. "You can tell me no, but I'd—I'd rather you didn't."
Blaine's mouth is slightly open, tongue wetting his lips as he does nothing but stare and breathe. This is like one of Kurt's fantasies come to life and he feels himself getting hard already. "I trust you," Blaine says and it's like someone has wrapped Kurt up in a cashmere blanket.
"I want to show you how beautiful you are," Kurt murmurs, moving on the bed so that he's straddling Blaine's hips. His jeans stretch tight across his thighs and he doesn't miss the way Blaine's eyes linger down, how he audibly breathes in, sharp, and his fingers twist slightly in the comforter. "I understand if you don't like me that way, but… I can't see you beat yourself up like this because you're perfect, Blaine."
Blaine says nothing. Kurt wants so badly for it to be like the chick flicks he goes to see at the movies with the girls, where Blaine suddenly has an epiphany that he's loved Kurt all along, that Blaine's been looking for him forever and that, despite Jeremiah, they can get each other out of all this.
Though none of that happens, there's still a certain look in Blaine's eyes, a glint that manages to be both dark and light all at once. It's something Kurt's never seen before but that he takes as a good sign. He's careful not to rest directly on Blaine's lap and tries to ignore the burn in his thighs as he brackets Blaine's head with his arms and leans down.
They breathe in each other for a few seconds that consist of Kurt rubbing his nose against Blaine's until he smiles and Kurt can move down and kiss that smile, keeping the kiss closed and chaste as he memorizes the feel of Blaine's soft lips under his.
He pulls back just enough to say, "Your smile is so wide and beautiful. The moment that you aimed it at me I knew I was—" He pauses and backpedals. "I knew you were a good person."
Blaine's face is a blur at this proximity; Kurt can't tell if what he's doing is right or if Blaine's enjoying it but he hasn't pushed him away or told him to leave yet, so Kurt must be doing something right.
He rests his weight on his right arm as he moves his left to run his fingers through Blaine's hair, separating the strands that are still gelled together. Blaine hums underneath him, tilting his head into Kurt's touch. Kurt smiles and scratches his nails along Blaine's scalp, twisting the curls around his fingers, and Blaine's moan is small, barely there and still a little shaky, but it's there.
"Your hair definitely looks better like this," Kurt says, and, feeling bold, leans down to whisper the last part in Blaine's ear. "With my fingers curled in it, tugging just enough so that you want more."
Blaine gasps, a kneejerk reaction, and suddenly his hands are on Kurt's sides, fingers digging in tight. Kurt moves slowly down Blaine's face, kissing away drying tear tracks and scraping his lips against forming stubble.
"Is it okay if…?" Kurt bites his lip, straightening up and feeling inexperienced and awkward. Blaine's hands slip from his sides and he moves to prop himself up on his elbows. He waits patiently for Kurt to finish. It's almost too dark in the room for Kurt to see that Blaine's eyes are dilated just a little bit, that he's breathing heavier and in a way that has nothing to do with crying.
"Is what okay?" Blaine finally asks, just a hint of impatience playing at the edge of his voice.
Kurt gestures with a nod down toward the hem of Blaine's wifebeater. "Is it okay if I take your—take your shirt off?"
"Yes," Blaine breathes immediately and his voice is so full of want now that there's no question as to whether or not Kurt's doing something right. He grips the fabric in his fingers, tugging slowly upward until Blaine lifts his arms and then, suddenly, white cotton fabric is on the floor and olive skin is laid out before him.
"You're so perfect," Kurt says, a note of awe in his voice. And it's not like he hasn't seen Blaine shirtless before—they room at the same school, after all—but he's never seen him shirtless in a way that was allowing him, inviting him, to touch.
Blaine rolls his eyes but says nothing and continues to rest his weight on his elbows. The dim light plays across his torso, throwing shadows along the ridges of his abs, the point of his chin and illuminating each breath that he takes. Kurt runs his hand along every inch of skin that he can, fingers brushing and grazing the smooth skin behind Blaine's ears, up and over the juts and dips of his collarbone, down his toned arms and to his thin wrists and large palms.
He touches the tip of his tongue to the hollow of Blaine's throat, tasting skin and sweat and just a hint of bitter cologne leftover from earlier in the day. He mouths along the ridge of Blaine's collarbone, bites gently at the junction of neck and shoulder, and points his tongue, running it in a line down the center of Blaine's chest, dipping it into Blaine's navel. Everything about you is so perfect that I physically ache sometimes from not being allowed to touch you. Blaine moans and runs a hand gently through Kurt's hair when Kurt flicks the rim of his bellybutton with the tip of his tongue.
Kurt leans up and forward, gently places a hand on Blaine's solar plexus before lightly running the tip of his index finger in a back-and-forth motion through the smattering of chest hair. Blaine shivers under his touch and his mouth drops open a little more, something that he's probably unaware of. "I can't get over you," Kurt whispers, scooting back a little to allow himself room to lean down and press a wet kiss to Blaine's left nipple, rubbing roughly at the other with the dry palm of his hand.
Blaine arches up, chest pressing insistently at Kurt's mouth and hand, and when he moans this time it's louder, a little less restrained. Kurt can only think oh god oh god this is happening, I really have Blaine underneath me, moaning when my tongue flicked his nipple and without even thinking he's sliding his hand down Blaine's torso, past the ridges of his abs and the thinning trail of hair, down to soft, thick cotton and the hardness underneath.
Blaine gasps, short and cut off, as Kurt cups, squeezes, feeling the heat radiate up through his palm. Blaine's so hard and this is so different, a good kind of thrill, and he doesn't want it to end. When he drags a fingertip up the stiff line of Blaine's cock he can feel the twitch, restrained but still there. "I bet you're even more gorgeous when you're naked."
"Kiss me," Blaine groans in response.
Somewhere in the back of his mind it's registering that this is their first kiss together, that he'd been wanting this all along, but it's so much more than what he had expected on those nights when he'd lain in his bed and dreamt about what would happen if they got together.
This is real. This is animalistic. This is Blaine's hands on his back, up his shirt as roughened fingertips trace the notches on his spine. This is his hand cupping Blaine's dick, feeling the length and girth that he knows already is impressive.
This is all his dreams, and then some, coming true.
Crying and heartbreak seem to be a thing of the past as Blaine's hips buck into Kurt's grasp two, three, four times and he's panting, gasping out Kurt's name like it's he only word he knows. Seeing him this desperate, this undone, is just another reminder that Blaine is only a teenager, like him, and that this is probably the first time that someone else is touching him.
Kurt inches Blaine's sweatpants down past the impossibly sexy V of his hips, tugging until they're down to mid-thigh and all that's left between them is the thin material of Blaine's boxers. "I really like this," Kurt says, running his hands along the dips in muscle, digging his thumbs in under the grooves. "I just want to mark it."
"Working out helped me believe that someday I could fight back," Blaine says, bringing Kurt back to the real world and the real Blaine, the scared one who hid behind a personality he'd made up. Kurt feels his heart clench and he thinks of the tears from earlier, how broken Blaine had sounded as he sobbed his insecurities.
He built himself up to fight back.
But he never fought back. He ran.
"You are fighting back," Kurt replies, slipping his hand under the waistband of Blaine's underwear to run his finger through soft-coarse hair. "You're doing so much just by being here with me."
He slides Blaine's boxers down, tangling them with his sweats as he licks his palm before wrapping it around Blaine's cock where it's resting against his stomach, curving up toward his navel, the tip flushed a red that's dark even against his complexion.
Kurt tries to tamp down the blush he feels coming on but knows it's futile, can feel the tips of his ears burning as he leans down to press his lips against Blaine's neck, says, "Everything about you is gorgeous. Your cock is gorgeous, and it's so long and thick…" Not that Kurt has much to compare it to, but it's said all in honesty.
"Jesus Christ," Blaine says, his voice strained as Kurt moves his hand, thumb rubbing over the smooth head to smear the clear liquid beading at the slit. "Fuck, Kurt… keep talking to me, please."
"You'll find someone to love you," Kurt continues, though he doesn't say and he's right here, in front of you because even though he may be the first person to touch Blaine like this it's probable that this can be played off as only a comfort exercise, as Kurt doing his friend a favor and boosting his self-esteem.
"You're talented and gorgeous and I can't find any faults about you," Kurt says as he tightens his grip slightly and twists his wrist near the base, sending Blaine's head back, tendons in his neck straining as he grabs onto Kurt's shoulders.
"If anyone heard this they'd think I was the most egotistical person ever," Blaine gasps as he slowly unfurls, like a ribbon, and falls apart under Kurt's inexperienced hands.
Kurt chuckles, says, "If anyone heard this I'd think they'd run before they could decipher any dialogue."
Kurt shifts, straddling Blaine's thigh and the bunched-up material of his clothes and he feels so impatient, so out of control, as he thrusts his hips down, rutting as he quickly jerks Blaine off.
How it got from comforting Blaine to this, neither boy will know, but neither regret it at all. It's not awkward, it's not anything other than a haze of first-time pleasure and rushing hormones.
"I-I never told anyone this," Blaine says, thrusting his hips up into Kurt's grip, "but I've always wanted someone to… someone to…"
Kurt catches on. "Someone to fuck you?"
Blaine blushes, something that surprises Kurt because here he'd thought that Blaine had been the confident, may-as-well-be-a-safe-sex-pamphlet guy, and nods. He raises his thigh up to meet Kurt's next thrust downward and intermingled moans fill the air.
"Ever since I transferred here," Blaine says, pulling Kurt a little closer to attach his lips to the salty, smooth skin on Kurt's shoulder, teeth scraping and lips sucking enough to redden the skin but not bruise. "I like giving up control sometimes. I get so overwhelmed."
"I would," Kurt replies as he grinds down harder onto Blaine's thigh, shockwaves resounding through his body.
Blaine grunts, jerking his hips up once frantically before coming over Kurt's fist, streaks landing on his abdomen and the hem of Kurt's shirt. Kurt comes embarrassingly fast a few seconds later, sent over by friction and the feel of Blaine's come and the timbre of Blaine's voice, the way he squeezed his eyes shut and let his mouth fall open.
Kurt is too afraid to ask what this makes them now because he doesn't want to be disappointed. It's too late to study now; even if they crammed, he's exhausted and he's sure that Blaine is. He almost wants to grab his books and sneak out before Blaine opens his eyes to avoid the confrontation that was sure to be awkward now that the endorphins were wearing off.
He wipes his hand on Blaine's comforter with a mental sorry! and sits up, wrinkling his nose at the sticky, cooling sensation in his pants.
"We should have coffee tomorrow," Blaine says. Kurt looks at him and his eyes are still closed, limbs still splayed like a rag doll's. He looks like the picture of debauchery with his pants only halfway off and soft cock glistening with spit and come. Kurt stares silently at the mess of semen and sweat on Blaine's torso and resists the urge to lean over and lick it off as he says, "Don't we always?"
"Yeah, but I think we did this backwards." Kurt cocks an eyebrow and Blaine finally opens one eye, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Doesn't it usually go 'meal and then sex'?"
Kurt's heart leaps. "Uh, I guess so." He goes for nonchalance but his voice is high in that way it gets when he's really excited or nervous and Blaine's known him long enough to know that, and that little smirk that morphed into a full-blown shit-eating grin is the clear indicator that yes, he does know what's going on inside Kurt's head right now.
"Good," Blaine replies. "I'd hate to do this all wrong."
Blaine really is perfect, the same flawed way that Kurt is perfect.
Kurt's in love and Blaine's slowly beginning to realize that he is as well.